Broken Wings
by Caturday
Summary: If you let it, the solitude will get the best of you and you will eventually go crazy. But before you do, you will come to face yourself, your memories and your past.
1. It wasn t fair

_A First-timer's South Park fanfiction. Better not to give away anything about it up front, might ruin the tale.  
DISCLAIMER: One does not own south park  
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If there's something I learned about life in my own limited time on this earth, it is that it isn't fair.  
Don't get me wrong, you will never hear me say I am in any way unhappy about how my life turned out. It just didn't turn out fair, and that's a fact.

My name is Kenny McCormick. I've spend the last three years in a two-by-four gloomy hospital room. It is a most depressing sight. The walls are painted in a sickening tone of hospital white, and there's only one small, barred window to provide a source of light. My bed's far too small and my only furniture besides a closet is a desk with a matching, uncomfortable chair.

Spending such a long time alone, confined to a single room, does something to a person. If you let it, the solitude will get the best of you and you will eventually go crazy. But before you do, you will come to face yourself, your memories and your past. This is what I must be going through right now, locked in here with nothing but my thoughts, and it made me realize just how lucky I have been.

Let me tell you something about my friends. They really are the most awesome people I ever had the pleasure of knowing. Some say that true friendship is something even harder to find than true love, and I can't disagree: Some people go their entire lives without finding friends that truly fit them, that they are closer to than anyone else. But I did, and I'm grateful for that every single day.

We didn't use to be so close. In a simpler time I would know Stan and Kyle, the dynamic duo. They were inseparable, always doing everything together and knowing pretty much everything about each other: it was quite disturbing to be frank. Being around them, you couldn't help but feel like the third wheel. And that's how I had often felt.

I knew Eric Cartman, the dreaded insensitive bastard who was a jerk to everyone and remained under the illusion everybody loved him for it. I'm not sure if he hated us all or it was just his unique way of acting. All I know is that I avoided spending any one-on-one time with him.

This was a time that I would hang around them rather than with them. I remained mostly silent in their company. They would often be off doing things without me, and I'd sit in my room, looking out the window, watching the clouds.

All that changed for the better when we got reacquainted, When I got finally got released from my first period of long, long, near-perfect solitude and realized just how limited by time with them would be.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I could happily spend years praising my friends and the great times we had, but unfortunately I do not have that much time left. What I want to tell you about was the twist of fate that turned my life around the day I turned thirteen.

I had no great expectations about my birthday. Hell, last year pretty much everyone forgot. I remember wearing this little paper hat on top of my usual parka that day. Which seemed like a funny thing to do back then: I would just sit around wearing it, and if somebody would come up to me asking 'whats with the little hat?' And I would respond saying 'Oh I just put it on for my birthday', and they would say 'Oh... happy birthday!' and I would smile at them, my day brightening up just a tad.

Stupid, huh? Who the hell does that?

I know that may seem like the silliest thing to you. But, mind you, I did a lot of stupid things to get attention back in the playful days. Most of these things were far more stupid than wearing a paper hat, and far more dangerous as well. Honestly, I could very well have ended up death with all the daredevil stunts I pulled off. But every day I woke up perfectly unscathed, so I kept right on doing them.

Anyway, the whole hat thing backfired. I believe some jocks placed some kind of bet on who would be the first to knock it off my head, because I ended up getting shot at by twenty-something different kind of balls, and ended up in the nurse's office for the rest of the day.

This year, my father did manage to remember my birthday. That day he stormed into my room and started his drunk-mans-speech:

'Kenny, now that you are thirteen it is high time to learn about the importance of money.'

I knew all about the importance of money, mostly because we had none. My father didn't like to be interrupted and/or contradicted though, so I saved myself a beating and remained silent

'Now that you're thirteen' he repeated 'you are finally old enough to be able to legally donate blood.'

He walked up to me and leveled his head with mine. I could smell that he had had more than his usual three shots for breakfast. At first I considered telling him that thirteen was in no way a legal age for donating blood, but I soon realized that in his current state, rambling on something 'giving back to the community' and the 'years of care and love we gave,' he wouldn't be listening to any kind of reasoning.

I'm not sure what speech he had planed to justify his plans in trading of my blood for booze, but I didn't feel the need to listen to his rambling. I instead preferred to get it over with, so I let him bring me to the car and got in the back seat and tightened the hood of my parka (which was my poor man's alternative to fastening the seat belts our ancient rusty car of course lacked).

My father got in the front seat and took a single one of the many spirits he had stashed in the glove box. Good thing we were heading to a hospital.

On the way to the hospital he shared with me his drunken takes on the meaning of life, with interesting, deep questions like 'What is the charming thing about the prospect of death?' (To which the answer was, and I recall this till this day: 'You will follow many but still head off alone'). He barely took notice to the road ahead and we nearly hit many a pedestrian on the way there, but we didn't crash that day.

We arrived at Hell's Pass hospital about thirty minutes later later. It was a three minute drive tops, but no radiator and a drunk driver only get you this far. My dad stumbled out of the car and dragged me by the arm into the hospital and up to the reception booth, where a nurse whose left boob was smaller than her right (I couldn't help but noticing, sorry) was sitting, reading a magazine.

'I'm sorry, This hospital is too understaffed to provide any more care for the intoxicated' the nurse said, not bothering to look up from her Science Daily 'Go throw up in an alley somewhere...'

I don't know if my dad even heard her 'Yes, I'm here with my son for, like, a blood donation kind of thing'

'Oh' The nurse said, still not truly deeming us worthy of her precious time 'I suppose that's all right. What's his blood type?'

'Oh, I'm not sure. Whichever pays the most'

'Very funny, sir' The nurse replied dryly. 'I'll ring in a doctor for you, take a seat if you must.'

My dad dragged me with him to the cramped waiting room hospitals tend to have. Even as we sat down, he still kept a firm grip on my arm. Maybe he half thought I would make a break for it once he let go (a part of me wondered if I would), or maybe he just thought he'd fall down otherwise. With his other hand he rumbled through the stale magazines that lay on the center table in search of a playboy or something similar. I myself settled for a car magazine, looking at all those expensive new models I knew I would never own.

You know, the untrained eye may read all this and conclude that I must hate my father. I don't really. We don't do all the father-son bonding things you often see in the feel-good television shows, but we still get along well. He and my mom drink far too much, but I think that their shared love for alcohol is one of the reasons that they are still together with all the fights they have. I think they still love me, in their own clumsy way. With that thought firmly manifested in the back of my head I've fooled myself into thinking that those rare cases of domestic abuse and my parents beating me is normal. As a result I felt pretty comfortable at home. Hell, I might even go as far and say that we had a stable family.

'Mr McCormick?' a voice called

'Huh.. w-what?' I felt a strain through my shoulder as my father jolted up at the sound of his name and forced me on my feet. He might have completely forgotten where he was.

'We're ready for you and your son, if you will just follow me.' The voice had belonged to a chubby doctor, whose I would later get to know as Dr. Harris.

Dr Harris had led us up two flights of stairs and into a tiny operation room with nothing but a white cabinet, two even whiter footstools and some kind of a bed that you only ever see in hospitals. He had sat down on one of the footstools and started filling in a form or another. Me and my father kept standing in the doorway and patiently waited for him to finish, as I looked around the room.

'All right' the doctor began, putting down his pen and looking up at us. 'So, little boy, you want to donate some of your blood to help others? That's very brave of you'. Great, he just had to pull the whole kiddy talk on me.

I said nothing. My father, on the other hand, responded straight away.

'Uhm, I was under the impression that he would get paid for this?'

'Oh... Oh yes of course,' the doctor said, squinting his eyes lightly as he took in my father's appearance. My father glared right back at him. For a short while they just stood there, eyes fixed on each other, until finally the doctor looked back on his form and continued.

'The hospital is willing to compensate all donator's for a sum of up to fifty dollar. Of course, we will first have to run some standard checks to see if the donator's blood is eligible and free of any diseases'.

My father suddenly looked at me and jerked my arm ever-so-slightly. Please don't let me have any diseases, I thought.

'All righty then' The doctor concluded. He then took from the cabinet a unnecessarily large syringe. I had always entertained the idea that Dr. Harris enjoyed freaking people out by using oversized stabbing and cutting equipment. Even now, he had his eyes tightly locked one mine as he presented the needle. I didn't twitch, needles couldn't scare me, I've had a lot more painful things happen to me in all kinds of surreal accidents, and I've always got out okay. You get used to the pain after a while too.

'All right, you can let go of your son now, Mr McCormick,' the doctor said. My father seemed reluctant to do so at first, but finally I felt his hold on my arm slacken. I walked up the doc and, not bothering to wait for any kind of invitation or instruction, I sat down on the bed.

Dr Harris first stood up and went to clean the syringe, then pulled up one of the footstools next to the bed and sat down. He rolled up the left sleeve of my orange parka, revealing my unusual pale skin.

'All right, this may hurt a little. Remember kiddo, there's no shame if you have to cry a little bit'. He licked his lips at that idea.

I ordered myself to keep perfectly rigid as he worked with the needle. I wasn't giving him the satisfaction.


	2. Booze money

_In celebration of my first review ever (oh hi thar) i decided to put this one up a bit earlier than planned. It's still sufficiently proof-read and spellchecked I think, but forgive me for any minor grammar errors.  
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'All right that's it little boy, you've been very brave. You can go back to your daddy now' the doctor said in his kiddy voice that churned my stomach. I shot him a dirty look in the passing, but he didn't seem to notice. He turned to my father instead.

'All right, if you can just wait here for a moment I'll just run some test to check up on his blood type and to see if his blood blood is of any use to us'.

Couldn't he have done that BEFORE he leeched a pint's worth of it out of me? Me and my father sat down on the now empty footstools as the doctor left to do whatever it is doctors do with fresh blood.

'So, how are you feeling, son?' My dad began. I blinked, surprised at my father's sudden interest. That surprise soon vanished as he continued: 'Because if you can handle this, we might have to make this a monthly thing. We could really use the money, you know. I already had to cut back on two bottles of scotch a day, and It's killing me.'

I guess I'm just glad my dad never realized how much scotch he could have gotten for one of my kidneys. I didn't reply. I think I made some weak attempt to fake a terrible headache, but my dad appeared quite oblivious.

The next few minutes we spend in silence, until Dr Harris made his return.

'All right little boy. I have a little something for you because you were so brave' as he reached out and handed me a lollipop. I didn't take it from him. Instead, by dad swooped in and quickly snatched it from the doctor´s hand and tucked it in its breast pocket ('for the road' he said, and I knew that was the last I'd ever see of that piece of candy).

'Unfortunately, There seems to be a little complexity with the donated blood. We ran the standard checks but noticed a few unexpected phenomena.'

'What, you mean we won't get no money?' My dad interjected.

'We aren't quite sure. I've called in another doctor who has a greater authority on the subject. We're just going to have to hold you a little while longer. Feel free to follow me'.

And so we did. This time we went down two flights of stairs and down a long hallway. We finally arrived into another operation room, this one being considerably larger than the last one. It had the same hospital-gray walls that make you want to vomit, but it held no beds. Instead, In the corner there was one of those human skeleton models and a lot of posters about all kinds of human bodily systems. Cabinets of blood samples and scary operating machinery made up most of this room's furniture.

Also present was a second doctor. A bony, nearly bald man with liver cushions on his hands. He had a crooked nose and long, dirty nails that I doubt lived up to the hospital's sanitary regulations. This man walked with a hunch and had a gaze that made me shiver whenever he fixed it on me. I never learned the name of this doctor, but I over the years I had nicknamed him the cat-killer, because his favorite subject of conversation was the dissection of cute, fluffy kittens.

'This is the boy?' the cat-killer began. Harris just gave a quick nod, not meeting his gaze. It immediately became clear that Harris was as scared of him as I was.

'It's truly remarkable' Dr Harris began, 'You'll have to see it for yourself, it's unlike anything I've ever seen before.'

The two doctors began a long and very medical conversation. A lot of Latin was spoken, and while I couldn't even understand half of it, I think I got the general hunch even then. Apparently my body cells had unique regenerative qualities, which allowed for restoration of body tissue in superhuman celerity. (yeah, it's a lot of bogus talk, but doctors get off on this sort of thing. How else would they survive the years of medical school).

Of course, I knew about what they called 'my condition' for ages. If it wasn't for 'my condition', I would've been lying six feet below the earth right now. I didn't think anybody had ever noticed (or cared), but now that they have, I really wish they didn't have.

As they talked, Harris idly operated some of the equipment that was placed around the room. He took all kinds of samples and added liquids of all colors, only to stick them into all kinds of machines. The results seemed to excite the cat-killer, who stared at me with an increasingly obvious longing in his eye.

My father understood even less of what was going on, nor did he make any attempts to understand the doctors' otherworldly speeches . His mind was in a different place right now, probably a place with a lot of alcoholic beverages.

Eventually the boney doctor walked up to me and examined me closely. He took off my parka hood and rolled up my sleeve. He placed a boney hand on my arm, which uncontrollably caused cold shivers to run down my spine. He watched the patch of skin where the needle had pierced my skin not so long ago. It had been pale again, no sign of blood or redness anywhere.

'Well well' he concluded 'This is a most remarkable specimen. The things we could learn if we could just run a few more... extensive checkups.'

The second he said that I knew I wanted nothing more than to run out of here and never look back. Cat-killer

hadn't let go of my arm though. And, as if he'd read my mind, had let go of me, walked to the door and locked it.

'Mr McCormick,' He started. My dad looked around, alarmed once more. 'Let's get right to the point. Your son seems to have some extraordinary condition that would surely benefit medical science a lot, if we were allowed to keep him here a little while longer'

'Huh w-what? How much longer?'

'That depends on what we discover. We estimate that it may take anywhere up to two months, maybe even longer if we find something of true medical value.' His voice was as piercing as his gaze, a cold sneer that made you want nothing more than to stick your head in the sand.

'You want to lock Kenny in a hospital to run tests on him?' My father didn't seem too enthusiastic about the idea either.

'We would just like to keep him here a little longer to investigate his unique condition. It may be of great help to medical science.'

'Wait... what? I thought we would just get some money for the blood donation. You can't just decide you want to keep him here. Where's the juice at anyway?'

'If it's money you are after, I am sure the hospital is more than willing to compensate you for your sons temporally absence'

I tried to read my father's expression. Surely he wasn't really considering pawning one of his kids for booze money? I know my father, poor as he is, has crazy ways to get his hands on some money (never by just getting a job, of course), but this was his son they were talking about.

Finally he spoke.

'How much we talkin' about?' He said. I looked at him, shocked.

A victorious look took over the cat-killer's face and he got himself a pen and a blank piece of paper from one of the cabinets. He scribbled down something, probably the amount of money he'd get. and handed the note to my father. He, in turn, looked up delected as he saw the amount. Like a dog with a bone, he looked at the doctors.

'Why don't we go to my office' Cat-killer said. He unlocked the door and I heard him lock it again once he and my father had stepped out of the room. I was left alone with the chubby doctor, who seemed to stare at everything in the room but me for a few minutes. Until finally curiosity got the better of him.

'My name is Doctor Steward Harris. And you are Kenny McCormick, right?' He still didn't look at me, but rather at the wall behind me.

I just looked down, studying the laces of my dirty, worn-out shoes. The doctor continued, he had dropped his kiddy talk, and instead talked to me with genuine interest and a sliver of excitement.

'Kenny, did it ever appear to you that your wounds and injuries were healed much faster than any of your friends'?'

Yeah, but he didn't have to know that. Nothing in the world was more interesting than my shoes right now, the soles had mostly let go and the nose of them was open, revealing my toes.

'Maybe you ever had some cuts or disease that everyone thought looked really severe, but miraculously cured themselves overnight?'

Plenty, thanks for asking. Maybe I should get some new shoes. The salvation army is bound to have a nice pair that I can have. How am I supposed to walk in these things in the winter, My toes will freeze off.

'It may be that you'll be in here for a bit longer. If you can tell me a few things, you could be out and about much sooner. You do want that, don't you?'

I just looked at him. What did he expect me to tell him? That I was bitten by a radioactive spider when I was four years old? That a wooden stake pierced my heart and that I am now a zombie? I don't know how I survived the things I've been through, while everybody thought I was done for. I just did, and I'm glad I did.

I was going to open my mouth and tell Dr. Harris to mind his own business, but I heard a key turn in the lock and my dad and the boney doctor stepped back in. Seeing the cheque my father clinged to like a lifebuoy and the satisfied grin on the doctor's face, I knew I wouldn't be going home tonight.

'Hang in there, kid. We'll see you again really soon I'm sure.' my dad had said by means of a goodbye. The cat-killer gave me a 'don't count on it' look, and I cringed. I didn't say anything to my dad, the bastard just sold me out.

By then I was filled by a mix of fear, anger and disappointment. My father is definitely not the best parent, but I always thought he was still looking out for me. It was a comforting thought, because there weren't too many people that looked out for me, and being poor always makes you feel kinda vulnerable. And now, before I knew it, he donated not only my blood, but my entire body to those evil doctors.

You could just see the cat-killer rejoicing at the thought of the upcoming, most painful medical experiments he had planned, or maybe he thought of the publishings and awards he could gain over my back. Dr Harris didn't seem too overjoyed with it all. He may have felt a sliver of pity for me, but he too didn't seem to be able to pass up on the opportunity that was presented to him.

So there I was, on my birthday. I had had no cake, no presents, not even a lollipop for my trouble. I was sitting in a depressing operating room with two of the most frightening people I had ever known thus far.

It was a close call, but I think this had to be my worst birthday ever.


	3. Don't leave me now

_This one turned out all right, I didn't need to make too much alterations while proof-reading. I actually have written up to chapter 7 right now, but keep making changes in the chapters as i progress.  
Hope you enjoy this one. Personally I feel the story gets better as it progresses, but I'm probably just saying that to keep you interested. Horror and romance coming up... eventually... i think...?  
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My first few days as one of the residents as Hell's Pass hospital I spend sulking around in my new room. I had earned myself this room on the ground floor of the hospital, in the section where all the chronically ill, long term comatose patients and vegetables resided. The rooms there were generally larger than most of the hospital's rooms, and they were all private, including a tiny private bathroom. This was all quite a relief: The last thing I wanted was to be forced to spend my time locked up with some elderly, drooling person who shouted in his sleep and needed assistance with going to the bathroom.

Looking back now, I sometimes ponder why i was so disgusted by my new room, why I found it so depressing to be forced to reside here now. The room was speckless, nicely heated and isolated, with a comfortable, large bed and a nice television set. It was definately better than the place I used to call my home. but all I recall was that I was completely grossed out about having to live there. Being surrounded by ill people probably wasn't a very comfortable idea, or maybe I was still so upset about my parents abandoning me like that that I was unable to feel anything but disgust.

I now say that my parents abandoned me, but maybe that one isn't actually true. My parents were stupid, no doubt about it, but the next day had shown me that they did care about me just a little.

I was sitting on my bed, Still feeling greatly uncomfortable in my new surroudnings. I sad perfectly still, thinking about nothing in particular, when i heard the moany voice of my mother echo through the halls outside.

'Kenny? Kenny where are you? Come on out, we're getting you out of here!'

Seconds later she appeared before me. She had barged into my room, and as soon as she caught sight of me she ran up to me and hugged me tight. I smelled no alcohol in her breath. Apparently she decided to sober up for the occasion, which showed me she was really upset (my mother doesn't sober up for anything).

Behind her was my father, far more alert then I've seen him in a long time, and apparently upset as well.

The scene my parents made did not go unnoticed though, and I knew one did not simply walk out of here. Before long, There was hospital security standing in the doorway.

'What's going on here?' A muscled bald man with a security tag inquired.

'We are getting our son back, you bastard' My dad barked at the guy. He was considerably smaller, my dad was, and not as muscled by far, but it didn't seem to frighten him. My dad doesn't get intimidated that easily.

'I'm sorry, but you can't just barge into a hospital and haul off with one of the patients. I'm afraid I can't allow it.'

'Then that's just too damned bad, because we are getting out of here'. My dad tried to push past the security guard, but the guard didn't budge.

At this moment I must've felt a great surge of affection for my parents. In all their drunken talk and violent ways of parenting I had never felt any joy in having parents, but now I realized that having parents that looked out for you, even parents as poor and clumsy as mine, was a great thing. I remember this because it had only made it more depressing when I realized that they were going to have to leave me after all.

'All right,' The guard replied calmly, 'why don't I bring you all up to the registration office where we can talk this over?'

There was little choice. There was no way that we could force ourselves past the uniformed gorilla. My dad nodded silently and beckoned me and my mother to get up and follow. My mother stood up, taking my hand firmly in hers, and give the security guard a dirty look in the passing as he escorted us up to a rather large office on the same floor.

Once inside, the guard told us that he was going to get one of the doctors for us to talk to, and locked the door behind him as he left. My mother sat down on one of the chairs and had me sit on her lap. My father didn't sit down, but paced around the office instead.

'Don't worry Kenny' my mother said soothingly, holding me close, 'We're gonna get you out of here. And your father is real sorry for getting you into all this, aren't you?'

'Oh... yeah.. yeah I really am, son.' My father replied. I wondered how much yelling had been going on between them last night. It must've been quite a heated row, because my father's face did have a few bruises on it.

For a moment we just sat there, my mother running her fingers through my hair, and my father looking around the elegantly decorated office, scanning the shelves for any objects he could haul at the security guard if necessary.

Then that security guard came in, closely followed by Dr Harris, who was looking timid, hiding behind his bulky pet. He carefully throdded past us and sat down behind the mahogany desk.

'Okay... well, I understand there is some kind of misunderstanding here?' He began

'No there is no freaking misunderstanding,' my mother had stood up violently, which caused me to fall down headfirst on the carpeted floor. 'This hospital just think they can rapture people's kids away for obscure reasoning.' My mother had no knack for using long words, but it didn't stop her from trying.

'Now now...' Harris said, he cringed in his chair and rolled it slightly backwards. 'I'm sorry to inform you, but this hospital has made a deal with your husband which he willingly agreed to. We gave him a generous sum of money to compensate your family. We did in no way force you into anything.'

'You can't make no deal with that lazy no-good husband of mine.' My mother yelled. My dad looked offended, but just buried his hands in his pockets and looked down, not interrupting as my mom continued to abuse him:

'He's a drunken worthless piece of junk, he is. You just took advantage of him when he was intoxicated and that's that! You can keep your filthy money, Kenny's coming home with us!'

Right that moment, the cat-killing doctor came in. He looked straight past us and saw the pale-faced Dr Harris sitting in his chair. He gave a stiff nod.

'I understand there's a problem with the boy's parents' He said to doctor Harris and the security guard behind the desk. He did not acknowledge me, my mom or my dad at all.

'Yes, come on in' Dr Harris said, looking greatly relieved at the cat-killer's arrival. He immediately rose up from his chair and offered it to his colleague. He wiped the sweat of his nose, then scuffled back, trying to blend in with the room's wallpaper.

I was genuinly worried. The bony doctor looked very confident about what he was going to say. He studied all three of us diligently. I felt a familliar shiver as he fixed his shifty eyes on me.

'Now, I came to understand that the husband has a problem with alcohol.' it wasn´t a question, more like a statement. 'And I am assuming the wife suffers from the same problem. From this I conclude the boy´s parents are most likely not capable of giving the boy the care he needs.'

I swallowed, I didn´t like where he was going at all.

'If the parents want to come back on the, deal' (and he emphasized the word with a sneer) 'we made, regarding the boy, I am afraid that the only way to do so is by going through the courts, because I feel the hospital will not be giving up authority over the boy that easily.´ From his breast pocket he took a pair of glasses and placed them on his crooked nose. He was still adressing Dr Harris rather than us.

'I am of course no judge, but being an educated person I deem it likely that this hospital, being funded by the government, would have more leverage in terms of legal representation than a poor, run-down redneck alcoholic couple. It would also be regrettable if someone brought up the questionable domnestic condition of the boy and his siblings. Alcoholic parents, maybe a couple of beatings, drug abuse perhaps?' With every word he spoke his malicious grin widened. My parent's angry expressions slowly vanished and were replaced by ones of concern and fear.

'The outcome of such a trail may eventually lead to depriving the boy's parents of all their parental rights, and both the boy, aswell as his siblings would have to be put up for adoption, which I am sure the hospital would be glad to provide.' He seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. Doctors really get off on the sickest things.

'Of course, the parents don't have to persue any legal action. They have been granted ample compensation for their child, and I can only hope that their alcohol-riddled brains see that it would be wiser to accept the money and patiently wait for their child to be returned to them, then be left with no compensation or children at all'

I looked at my mother with a look of desperation, but she just stared at the doctor helplessly. She seemed to be on the verge of tears. Even my father looked defeated. He may have been thinking about bashing the boney doctor's head in with something heavy, but had now decided against it. It wouldn't have accomplished anything anyway, apart from a very deep feeling of satisfaction.

The cat-killer then looked down at me: 'Kenny, why don't you let Mr. Hayes escort you back to your room. Your parents will be leaving in a moment, and I'm afraid they won't be able to visit you any time soon.'

The security guard stood up and beckoned me. I didn't protest, nor did my parents. I just stood up and let the hospital gorilla usher me out of the room

'Bye mom... bye dad...' I finally said. I gave them a weak sort of wave and a watery smile as the guard pushed me out of the office.

'Sorry kid,' the guard said once we were standing outside of the office. He looked down on me with pity in his eyes. It seemed that everyone here was absolutely terrified of the cat-killer. At least i'd fit in on that aspect.

And that's how that happened. Maybe it wouldn't have gone this way if my dad wouldn't have accepted the hospital's money in the first place, but it probably would have regardless. The cat-killer reigned with an iron fist, I doubt he'd ever take no for an answer. If only my parents hadn't been so damned poor we never would have been forced to pawn my blood for money. Or if they weren't abusive alcoholics then this hospital wouldn't have so much leverage to use against them. But there you go.

I of course never tend to think about what could've been, because thinking of what could've been is only one more way to break down completely. Believe me, I've seen it happen. In my innocent days, the first few weeks I spend as a hospital resident, I would roam around my section of the hospital and find company by talking to the other patients. Most of them had been in here a lot longer than me. Some had been around for years. Most of those patients had accepted the bad hand that faith had dealt to them, but a select few never have.

I remember talking to an elderly man, who himself believed he had lived here since the birth of time itself, who kept telling himself he wasn't truly ill. Every day, every night, he would just repeat to himself: 'I am not Ill. I don't deserve to be here'. He talked about his wife (I had no clue if she was fictional or not), his job (ditto) and the beautiful little appartment he had up in Aspen. Hearing him talk like that, clearly miserable, I concluded It's just the wrong way to cope with life here. Some of the residents can't ever be happy, maybe, but you can save yourself horrible misery by not just accepting your fate, rather than acting like that man. may he rest in peace.

Even with those pearls of wisdom, I sometimes think about how each of my friends would have behaved if it had been one of them, not me, that was locked up in here. I entertained myself for hours coming up with the cheesy dialogue Eric Cartman would've had with the doctors while they did their horrible experiments on him. Or thinking of Kyle, slowly breaking down, cursing the injustice of it all, shouting out to the darkness every night. Stan, i figured, would soon start to miss his friend Kyle so much and break down aswell. Thus I considered myself to be the only one mentally tough enough to handle the stuff I've been through. That idea comforted me somewhat, making me feel a bit stronger during times that i felt weakest.

When the four of us were reunited, I remember bringing this particular 'what if' up for some light and humorous speculation, but my friends didn't really get into the subject. Maybe they had been convinced I was trying to have them feel sorry for me, or maybe that I tried some kind of guilt trip. This wasn't the case, really, but I just smiled and we abandoned the subject.

I guess, considering where I'm at now, those first few weeks in the hospital weren't that bad. It had been a tough run at first, sure, but at the time I had been far more cheery, far more playful, and I was still whole-heartedly convinced that even tough I was in a bad place right now, that there was still hope.

Hope was not the that drived me as much back then as it did later. Hope is thinking that there is still a chance that things might improve, while acknowledging the fact that things may also get worse. Back then, I didn't think that things could possibly get worse.

They didn't, really, at least not in some aspects.

But there is me rambling again. I am definately getting tired. I had been mustering up energy to talk about my experiences during the first weeks in Hell's Pass, and instead have eneded up at hope and what could've been. My mind has kind of blurred all these things into one long train of thoughts. I´m no longer able to distinguish between time, memories or feelings. My life is just randomly flashing by before my eyes.

I guess that's what they say is supposed to happen just before you die...


	4. Of your sick mind

_Reviews are awesome. I guess i never knew that. Thanks to those who did and thanks in advance to those who will.  
All right, that's out of my system. I'm not selling out for reviews, don't worry, I'll finish this story no matter who decides to bear with it.  
Life's getting pretty busy on me. I hope i'll have some time left to write anytime soon. But for now, how's this.  
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The following time that I spend in Hell's Pass was to be one of the loneliest periods in my life. I always thought I was lonely before, but this, It was just plain dreadful. Most of the people that surrounded me here were physically or mentally ill. Even the doctors and the nurses weren't of a sound mind. I was allowed only limited freedom throughout the hospital's ground floor and I was yet to be allowed to go outside, so my social contact was limited to the hospital staff and patients only.

And I've told you, the other patients: They were no fun to talk to. Many of the hardcore patients were incapable of intelligent speech, and those that could talk reserved their words only to tell of their dreadful illnesses and diseases in stories that would haunt me during the night and keep me up for weeks.

And even if I did decide to talk to my fellow patients, you couldn't get emotionally attached to any of them, because they could pass away just like that. I learned that grim lesson pretty soon, when I happened upon a little boy dragging himself through the hallway of 'my' section of the hospital.

This boy was nine years old, attended South Park elementary in 4th grade (oh the memories). He was a lot like me and we got along pretty well. I'd invite him to my room and we had a pretty good time talking about nothing in particular. I knew better than to ask him what he was in for (not that I didn't care, I just couldn't handle any more sob stories).

Then, the next day I believe, I decided to pay him a visit. I asked the receptionist what room he was supposed to be in. I even got him a stuffed bear from the hospital's tiny gift shop (I had got it for free. I just combined puppy eyes with 'I'm about to have an euthanasia. Miss, What's an euthanasia?' Worked like a charm). And when I got to his room, I found him lying perfectly still, no pulse. By the time i alarmed the doctors it had been too late. May he rest in peace.

After that, it took me a long time before I ever spoke with another patient again. I found ways to entertain myself without other people instead.

After my first day of 'experimental surgery', as the hospital records had masked it, I knew that I would never, ever take a liking to any of the doctors here either. The cat-killer, it seemed, had more of an executive function than a medical one, so he was never really present during any of my operations. Which was good, because he scared me down to the bone, that guy.

Dr Harris was the leading (and only) doctor involved in my medical examinations. He hadn't seemed like such a bad guy when I first met him. Conceited, maybe, scary even, but not all that unkind. So when I got into the tiny operating room that was hidden away in a far corner of the hospital and and learned that Dr Harris would perform all the experiments all by himself, I was relieved. That would quickly change, though.

The doctor told me to lay down on the bed, to which he then strapped me tight with two pulse-meters, leaving me quite trapped. He then sat down on a plastic chair and started scribbling something in his notebook.

'So Kenny, how are you doing now? Enjoying your stay here so far?'

How the HECK could he ask me something like that? This guy had no subtlety whatsoever. I'm sure they bullied him to no end as a kid. But at least he had no longer felt like he needed to pull the kiddy talk on me.

I just laid still on the bet, watching my pulse on the screen next to it. When Dr Harris didn't get his answer, he just went straight on with his welcoming speech

'As you may know you are here because your body seems to have an unique quality to it. We don't know how or why, but your damaged body tissue seems to restore awfully quickly.'

He then looked at me for a second, expecting a reply of some kind. I remained silent.

'We are hoping to find out the how or why of this in the following months. If we can somehow find out what causes this condition, we can then see if it is applicable to other patients with a range of different diseases and afflictions.'

More medical babble. It sounded far too optimistic to me. I think he was ordered to fake optimism to justify all the cutting and stabbing he was about to do.

'If the experiments prove successful. We may be able to cure a lot of conditions we previously thought of as incurable.'

Apparently I was expected to appreciate that, to jump up and yell 'that sounds awesome, let's do it!' When I didn't, Dr Harris looked quite disappointed, frustrated even. His speech hadn't made the impact he had hoped.

'So Kenny. You remember how before I asked you about any past injuries you have had? '

'Sorry, don't remember that doc' I finally spoke up. Being tied to the bed with pulse meters, I guess it made me feel like quite the rebel. The entire situation was a joke anyway, so I decided to get smart with Dr Harris a little.

Not such a great idea, with hindsight.

Apparently it worked, he was getting quite aggravated. He continued with a forced calm voice:

'You don't? Maybe you remember me saying that if you don't cooperate, your stay here might be longer than you would like.'

'It already is, doc' I told him 'But no, doesn't ring any bells.'

through gritted teeth he said: 'You know, Kenny, that if you fail to cooperate, bad things may happen even. Do you remember that?'

'Nuh-uh, sorry' I replied with a mischievous grin. 'Care to refresh my memory?'

'Oh I think I do. And I think I know the perfect way.'

He laid down his notebook and walked up to a cabinet. He went through it diligently and took out something, I didn't see what it was. He then walked back to the bed and bent over me.

All of the sudden he ripped open the zipper of my parka, baring my chest and stomach. I then saw the object he had taken from the cabinet had been an oversized scalpel. Dr Harris licked his lips as he put on a pair of plastic, sterile gloves and took the scalpel in his right hand, then violently plunged it into my stomach.

The pain was gut-wrenching. I tried to break loose from the wrist straps that kept me to the bed, but that did nothing but worsen the pain as Dr Harris poured around in my stomach with the scalpel. Finally he retracted it and placed it into a glass of water. He pulled up his chair next to the bed and carefully looked at me as blood started gushing out of the fresh wound.

He seemed to enjoy it too, the bastard. Licking his lips again, he studied me closely as I struggled with the wrist straps and kicked with my legs in futile attempts to break free. Doctors are sick, sick people.

I tried to resist the pain as long as possible and continued my struggle to break loose. In desperation I tried to bring my head to my stomach to limit the blood flowing out of it. Dr Harris occasionally made a note and glanced at his watch, but mostly his gaze was locked on my stomach and the blood coming out of it.

Finally the pain became to much. My vision blurred, my muscles relaxed. I felt very frail. Just before I closed my eyes I saw Harris scribbling something into his notebook with excitement. Then I was overtaken by sweet unconsciousness.

I don't know how much time had passed when I opened my eyes again. It took me a few seconds to realize where I was. When I remembered where I was and what had just happened, I shook up fiercely, recommencing my earlier struggle with the wrist straps that still held me confined.

'Remarkable,' Dr Harris said to himself. 'Truly remarkable.' He had risen from his chair, and had been studying printed graphs of my heartbeat when he saw that I was awake once more. 'How do you feel, Kenny?'

How did he think I felt? He just stabbed me, for crying out loud!

'You've been out for almost two hours. But you seem to be perfectly fine and dandy now. How does your tummy feel?'

I looked down at my stomach. The gaping wound had neatly closed up. there wasn't even a scar or a strain to be seen. The skin was perfectly seamless and clean. The sheets of the bed were still stained with blood, but apparently Dr Harris had wiped most of it off my stomach when I was out.

'This is a truly the most extraordinary thing, Kenny. Now if you'll excuse me I have a report to file out. Thanks for your... cooperation,' and he flashed me a grin not unlike mine when I had asked him to refresh my memory. I tried to break free once more, to no avail. 'We'll continue the examination somewhere in the next two weeks'.

And just like that he walked out of the tiny room. He didn't even bother to untie me. He just left me lying there.

Needless to say that from that moment on I cherished a deep hate for Dr Harris. That hate would slowly start to decrease over time, but I would always have a strong contempt for him and his sick turn-on to pain. Being the pervert that I was back then, I spend the time that I was tied to the bed wondering what Dr Harris was like in the bedroom, and could do nothing but feel a deep pity for his wife (if he even had one).

After about ten minutes Jay came into the room and was shocked at what he saw. Me tied to the bed, with bloodstains all over the sheets and my clothes. I guessed the doctor had called him in to untie me because he didn't want to do it myself, knowing I'd probably attack him as soon as I got the chance.

Once Jay had released me he escorted me back to my room. On the way there he must have asked me if I was sure I was okay at least twenty times, and every time I just nodded.

I realize I completely forgot about Jay. I've just been saying how lonely my time at Hell's Pass was at first and I didn't even bother to bring him up. Which is strange, because he was the closest thing to a friend one could have within those walls.

James Johnson was a nurse. A male nurse. He was about twenty-eight years old, and was working for Hell's Pass for about two now. He had his hair cut short, had a subtle, no excessive, sunbed tan and a brilliantly white set of teeth.

His primary job was taking care of a select few of the long-term patients here. There were a few nurses with a similar job, each of them having only a few charges to look after, so they could spend enough time getting to know each of them.

I was one of nurse Johnson's charges. His favorite one, he assured me. He would bring me my three portions of food each day, but was also there if you needed someone to talk to. Not like a counselor, but like a big brother, like a friend and father figure combined, . He was always genuinely nice and interested and seemed to enjoy being with other people, which made him an easy person to talk to. I talked to him a lot, about anything from meaningless small talk to most serious business.

I had ended up calling him Jay, and he had let me. I really liked him. He didn't remind me of my own big brother (we were both awfully quiet around the house as most of the talking, or rather the shouting, was done by my parents), but I think he rather reminded me of one of my friends back in the real world. I never quite decided which one.

So, eventually me and Jay got back to my room. Through my window I could see that the sun had already set some time ago, and the clock radio informed me it was 10 PM. Jay took my bloody orange parka and pants from me, saying he'd bring it to the launderer first thing tomorrow. I got into my hospital-issued pajamas and allowed Jay to tuck me in for the night.

'Are you sure you're fine Ken?' He asked me for the twenty-second time.

'I told you, I'm fine' I said with a fake annoyance in my voice. I smiled at him. He smiled back.

'Do you want me to get you anything?' he asked me.

'Well, could you maybe leave a glass of water on the nightstand?'

He took a glass and let it spin through the air, catching it without effort. He did all kinds of subtle tricks to entertain his charges, he had told me. I myself was especially fond of his card tricks. He went into the tiny bathroom to fill the glass with water, before placing it on the nightstand next to me.

'Need anything else?' he asked me again. He could really overdo his concern sometimes. But growing up with parents that didn't care about my well-being in the slightest, it was a welcome change.

'Just get out of here already,' I told him with the same fake annoyance. He laughed and ruffled his hand through my messy blonde hair.

'Good night.' He said. He turned off the light in my room and closed the door behind him.

As I said before, I really liked him. I Don't know how I would've kept my sanity in that place without someone like him looking out for me.

That night was the first night in Hell's Pass that fear took hold of me. Dr Harris seemed to have had no problem stabbing me with a scalpel. Any person may very well have died from the loss of blood there, but he had seemed perfectly willing to take the risk.

I had assumed they'd handle me gingerly. I was their prized test subject after all, their stairway to money and recognition. But if a little push was all it took for Dr Harris to just run me through like that, then whose to say he won't one day just kill me off for good during one of his crazy experiments?

He had hinted I might be stuck here for a while until they found a way to apply 'my condition' as a medicine for other patients. But what if they never did What if they just kept doing horrible experiments and painful dissections with no sign of progress whatsoever?

What if I they'd never let me out of here?

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_Well that's that. Sorry for the mild(?) brutality, it might give a bit more of it, but ease off eventually. Just experimenting with all kinds of subjects in my first story._


	5. The pain drives me

_This is the last of the scene-setting chapters. Well maybe there's one more, but it's fast-paced and after that some plot starts rolling.  
It's a bit of a long read, but I'm personally happy with how these chapters are turning out. I think I'm improving as I go, but that's me patting myself on the back._

_Hope you enjoy this.  
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I woke up very early the following morning. The thought of the doctor stabbing me was still lingering fresh in my mind and had haunted me throughout my dreams, which made it impossible for me to get any kind of decent sleep. I lied in bed, shifting and turning around under the covers for another hour trying to fall back to sleep, but finally decided to cut my losses and got up.

I resisted the urge to look on my clock radio and instead opened the single window my room had. I took the little white chair from my desk and just sat there, looking out of the window, waiting for the sun to rise. My arms I leant on the window frame and I rested my head on my arms, my eyes fixed on the darkness beyond. A chilly but fresh breeze blew against my face and through my thin pajamas, causing me to shiver.

Sitting there, I randomly thought of my family. My parents, my big brother and baby sister. I wondered what they had spend the money they received on. A big part of me was still bitter about them having that money, earned over my suffering, but a bigger part just wanted for them to be happy now.

I thought of my friends. How long would it take for them to realize that my absence wasn't just me skipping school again? Maybe they had visited my parents already and learned what had happened to me. Maybe they had even cared enough to try and reason with the cat-killer, telling him what he was doing was wrong and all that. It was the kind of thing Kyle would do, if he was in a certain mood.

I was jerked out of my train of thoughts as dusk arrived. A watery autumn sun rose up above the mountains. It's cold morning light shone on my face through the snowy pines that made up the landscape. The sun's rays blinded me slightly, but did not emit any warmth. I kept resting on the window frame, staring into the distance, until the sunlight finally became too fierce and I was forced to avert my eyes. I lifted my head and stretched my limbs for a moment, then got up from my plastic chair.

I took off my pajamas and walked into the tiny bathroom, looking forward to a long, warm shower.

It had been somewhere around 8 AM when I finally got out of there, I remember because just when I came out of the shower and got a towel, Jay barged into my room, right on schedule.

'Oh, sorry Kenny...' he said once he saw I was naked.

'Geez, Jay. How about you knock next time?' I had started. I then realized he couldn't knock because both his hands were filled with a variety of things.

I wrapped the towel I held into my hand around my waist, still dripping water from the shower on the floor.

'Here, I just got you your breakfast. I also got you your parka back, all clean'. He tossed my orange parka on my bed and gently placed a food tray on the desk

'If you need anything, you'll know where to find me. If you need any more snacks, go by the hospital kitchen down the hall. Just tell them I directed you there.'

'Yeah, thanks.' The entire situation was a bit embarrassing really. I didn't like to think as myself as the patient or Jay as the nurse, and situations like these did only emphasize this.

'I have some more people to check up on. I'll see you later.' His hands were full with all kinds of belongings and food meant for the other patients, so instead of a wave he tried some weird kind of hand gesture and a friendly nod in my direction. He then got out of my room and closed the door behind him with his foot.

I smiled to myself and shook my head, causing drops of water to fly throughout the room. I finished drying myself off and got back into my warm orange parka. It smelled nice, cleaner than it had ever been, actually.

I looked at the breakfast they bestowed upon me. As you would expect in a hospital, the food was all perfectly healthy and nourishing, but void of any real flavor. There was some brown bread with a little slice of white cheese. For drinks I had some orange juice and a questionable apple for the vitamins and sugar surplus. As I said, the food wasn't all that good. But as poor as I was growing up I was grateful for any kind of food I could get my hands on, so out of habit I rushed right in and ate all of it with incredible speed.

And there I sat, alone in my room.

As the weeks turned to months, I had pretty much made my peace the fact that I was stuck here. I eventually got into the rhythm of being a Hell's Pass patient.

I tried to fight it at first. Most prominently by continuing to wear my trusted parka. You see, It was expected, although not strictly mandatory, that patients wore the clothing the hospital provided them with. They had shirts, pants, sweaters and pajamas, all in the same dreary, gray-white color that matched the hospital walls. I did wear the pajamas at nights, but during the day nobody could stop me from wearing my parka instead.

It had always been like that: It was just a very important part of me, a distinctive part of my identity. It also served as my security blanket: When I wore it, I felt safe; protected. and when I didn't, I felt vulnerable. Without it, most people in South Park wouldn't even recognize me.

I had never outgrown this fine piece of clothing: It always seemed to fit my rapidly growing body perfectly, as if it was growing with me over the years. It would continue to do that, so I never had to toss it out and start wearing those hospital rags.

The orange color really stuck out against the other patients. I guess I saw wearing it as a way show to the world that I wasn't actually one of them.

I was now expected to see Dr. Harris every other week, and do a general health check with the on-call doctor weekly. The latter was not that bad. Most other doctors didn't really know what I was in for, as the experiments done to me were mostly shady and off the record, even for the rest of the hospital staff, courtesy of the cat-killer and his pet Dr. Harris. They just did some routine muscle and reflex checks and made sure my body was perfectly healthy and free of diseases. Apparently the two doctors didn't want anything bad to happen to their test subject (which is strange, considering one of them stabbed me).

My bi-weekly visits to Dr Harris, they never improved. I told you how I thought he likes to use extra large versions of all his pointy and sharp medical equipment to freak people out? Well, each and every visit I paid him confirmed that idea. I had no clue what they were trying to achieve, if they were even trying to achieve anything. All I remember is lots and lots of pain.

He had said that sedation might conflict with the test results, so I was forced to be conscious and lie perfectly still while he did his dissections, shock therapy, and all kinds of gruesome things words fail to describe. Dr Harris continued to sport a fetish for pain, and he seemed to take great delight in trying to get me to squeal.

I tried not to as much as possible. It was a battle of will, and I wasn't planning on giving him the victory lightly. I often considered telling Jay about the things that were really going on during my examinations, but I didn't want him to worry about me or try to do something about it. Dr. Harris acted on authority of cat-killer, and if Jay decided to get involved it would mean crossing him. I definitely didn't want to see that happen.

Apart from those soul-tearing medical exams every two weeks and the weekly checkup, I was also supposed to keep myself in shape. For this purpose, the hospital had a tiny gym set up on the ground floor. I'm not sure if it was meant for patients or the hospital staff: It was always deserted, and I doubt anybody but me ever used it.

It didn't have a lot of equipment. A few weights to lift here, a mat there, and maybe a home trainer or two. For me, the main attraction was the huge window gallery that it had along one of the sides. Wall-high windows, each of them, letting in ample sunlight during the day, starlight during the night. It was as close to being outside as I was allowed to be.

I was expected to work out there at least one hour a day, five days in a week, but I spend far more time there than that. About two to three hours a day, every day I was in there, doing all kinds of heavy exercises. I felt great satisfaction in pushing myself like that, going that extra mile on the home trainers, or lifting more weights than I could handle.

I pushed through with all the strength and determination my thirteen year old body could muster. Even tough my entire body would protest and my muscles would hurt, I carried on. It was like this that I learned to resist the pain, so that I wouldn't have to cry out in front of Stewart Frankenstein and his satanic experiments. When the blood started flowing and the adrenaline pumped through my veins, the pain wouldn't matter anyway. It caused me to enter a wonderful state of bliss, forgetting all about my lockup in here, with the scary doctors and the depressing patients. I wouldn't have to think about my parents, when I would get out of here and if I'd even survive the things they would have in store for me,

Nothing mattered but me in there. The cramped muscles and sweaty clothes I would have afterward, those I would consider my reward.

Once I was completely exhausted, I just laid down on my back on one of the mats next to the window and, depending on the time, enjoyed the caressing light of either the afternoon sun or the silver moon, staring up at the passing clouds or the stars, not thinking of the outside world like I would when staring out of the window in my own room, just feeling completely relaxed.

Satisfied, I would go back to my room. On the way maybe paying a visit to the hospital kitchen. They knew me there, thanks of Jay, and would often give me a healthy snack for the energy supply (There aren't that many sweets in a building filled with doctors, I guess they only gave you candy after a donation of some sort).

I had taken it upon myself to redecorate my room a bit. The permanent residents could spend years here, so the hospital would allow them to personalize their room if they wished it. I had changed the depressing white bedsheets of my bed with Terrance and Phillip ones. And, with the help of Jay, I got my hands on a poster of the exact same bikini-clad women that had been hanging above my bed in my old house. I also had a poster of the newest, shiniest Lotus car I could find. I used to have a poster of a little kitten lying in a meadow too, but found out I couldn't help thinking of the cat-killing doctor whenever I saw it, which was a most uncomfortable thought. So I took it down again.

The free spots on my wall would eventually be filled with my drawings. You can imagine that there's a lot of time to kill when you are in here. My room did have a TV set, but watching reruns of television shows and home shopping channels is only entertaining for that long.

So I took up drawing. I had stolen a huge batch of paper from one of the copy machines and a few pencils out of desks around the hospital, and had smuggled them all into my room. Nobody really missed that kind of stuff anyway, and they allowed me to get into the habit of drawing.

It began with basic doodling. I'd draw stick figure women with two huge circles that were supposed to be boobs, if possible in all sorts of suggestive positions. But eventually those doodles took the form of actual women. I was quite talented, I think, and had a lot of time to practice. My stick figure women gained gentle curves, flowing hair, full lips and playful smiles and all the things to make them look like real people. I'd draw women, more so than men in all kinds of situations, but not even sexual ones. I got into drawing detailed facial expressions and emotions, their surroundings and landscapes behind them. Yeah, I truly had loads of spare time.

Jay would occasionally catch a glimpse of one of my finished drawings and look at them now and then, looking genuinely amazed by the level of detail. He'd ask me the story behind each of them, and share with me which ones he liked best.

One drawing in particular seemed to upset him though. I had drawn a little girl, in a thick winter coat, sitting alone in a prison cell, with a tear running down her cheek. That one he didn't ask me about, but he folded it and tucked it in his breast pocket, then shook his head and sighed deep. I didn't ask why, but decided not to draw anything similar from then on.

Finally, it had been arranged that I would be getting tutoring. For a short while, three days a week, I would be schooled by a hired tutor about some of the basic school subjects. She'd teach me math, English and all that to allow me to go right back to my old class once I got released.

I was supposed to pay attention to it all, but I didn't. To get a private tutor to teach you everything personally and in your own pace is more than I could have ever hoped for, because I didn't speak up in class and often fell behind. But again, I really couldn't care less about my education. Learn me a book. I got homework assigned at the end of each session, but again did it only half-heatedly. The whole thing kind of fell through in the end.

The doctors didn't care. It seemed that my physical health was more important to them than my mental health. Doctor's like cutting in people, and they couldn't cut into my mind. So while they made sure I did proper daily exercise and went to checkups, they just shrugged when my schooling tutor got fed up with me, told them to 'shove it' and quit.

As far as their 'expansion of medical science' went, they wouldn't share with me how much progress they had made (Dr. Harris had become increasingly distant and now most the operations he did were done in near-perfect silence), but Jay told me that they were very excited about their findings.

So my fear of being kept here forever increased. It had been a irrational fear at first, a distant thought that made me feel uneasy, but really just simmered somewhere in the back of my head. But now, it became an ever more solid concern for me. I could only cope with Dr Harris for so long, and while I tried to hold my head high and act strong, acting like I was fine, I could feel myself coming ever closer to what these doctors would refer to as a 'nervous breakdown'.


	6. Deliver us from evil

I had a good run. I tried to adapt to their rules for a while. I remained strong despite their shots to wear me down. But during a cloudy spring day with Harris, I collapsed.

It had been building up, And I strongly believe I had seen it coming all along, but hadn't been able to do anything about it.

I occupied myself with whatever it took to stop my mind from wandering off to that which I didn't want to happen. Thinking about it will eventually lead to it happening.

But nothing can protect you from the dreams. At nights, the desperation grew, slow but steady. As the months here progressed I would cry myself to sleep ever more often, As well as waking in tears at mornings. Whenever I did, I stayed true to my quirk of sitting next to the window till dawn, staring in the distance.

And then, there was Christmas.

I never held any kind of delusion of temporal leave for the holidays to be with friends or family. I thought that in here, I would be able to ignore Christmas completely. but as the 25th of December drew closer, and the nurses started hanging up all kinds of Christmas decorations, the imminent holiday season got to even the dullest of patients: There were Christmas trees in the lobby, mistletoe and baubles in the hallways. They even hung a wreath in all of our rooms. It was a welcome change from the plain white we had the rest of the year, and it made me wonder: If the spirit of the holiday's could get to me, then maybe even the doctors wouldn't be able to keep their hearts frosted.

I decided I would ask Dr. Harris. Even if I didn't get anything of the sort, and I knew I most likely wouldn't, at least I would've tried. My family didn't ever have any money for decorations, presents or a tree or anything, but they were still my family. And Christmas was a time for family, or so I heard.

So during the next examination with him on a sunny December morning, I asked him.

It wasn't easy to swallow my pride like that. Me and the doctor had kept up a solemn silence during our time together, and our only interaction consisted of me glaring daggers and him ignoring me as much as possible, looking only at his notebook and the part of my body he happened to be tormenting.

Now I would have to grovel and ask for a favor. It didn't feel right, but it had to be done.

Unsurprisingly, we were going to do something painful that day. I let him get on with his routine first. To soften him up I cried out occasionally, acting like the pain really got to me this time. As I did this I couldn't help but feel like a prostitute, just saying.

When he was finished he didn't look at me. He wrote down something and pointed me at the door. There was nothing else to it. I would have to go up to him and ask

'doctor?' I began meekly.

'Huh, wh-what?' Dr Harris jolted up, his eyes glancing with fear. Or revulsion, either one. 'What do you want?'.

'Well. It's nearly Christmas, you know. Peace on earth.'

'Oh... oh well yes. I suppose so ' He turned his eyes back on his notebook. Apparently he did not want to share his holiday spirit, if he had any, with me.

'I was wondering...' I spoke louder now, trying to catch his eye. 'Maybe, for Christmas, I can visit my family, just for once.'

Stunted, he looked at me. For an instant he lifted his eyebrows.

'Oh... well I don't know Kenny. My superior doesn't really want you outside, you know.'

'But just for this one time.' My voice was more demanding now, as well as slightly more hopeful.

'No really, I don't know. It might attract unwanted attention' (his voice trailed off) ' raise questions' (I couldn't make out anything useful from his mumbling) 'not supposed to know about... No sorry Kenny, I really don't think it's possible'

He seemed to take no pleasure in declining me this. He may have been a bit sorry for me, even. Strange.

'oh' For a moment I looked defeated, but I didn't give up yet. 'But maybe my parents could come down and visit me instead? Just for one time, I mean.'

Again, he considered this before he spoke.

'Well, I don't think so, but, my superior, it's really not my...'

His voice trailed off again, mumbling away before he snapped back to reality.

'You know, maybe I can talk to them about you, and you know, maybe...'

As he rambled on, I knew right away it was a lost case.

'Uhm... thanks I guess. I'll hear from you then?'

'Yeah, maybe. I guess so'

It was very obvious I would not be able to see anyone for Christmas. If he had to talk to the cat-killer, which I doubt he would, there was no way that he would get the permission. The cat-killer took no chances. He would not give anybody the chance to take me away before his plan for me had been fulfilled.

Defeated, I dragged myself out of the examination room. This time, I felt Harris' eyes fixed on my back rather than his notebook.

'Kenny!' Dr Harris shouted out, just before I closed the door behind me

I looked back. Dr Harris looked a bit uncertain about what to say next.

'Maybe it's best if we cancel our next meeting. We will continue after the holidays, okay?'

I nodded: 'fine.'

'And Ken, merry Christmas' and he tried a smile that looked frightening rather than kind.

'And you,'

With a hanging head I turned around and walked out of there.

It was to be expected. I should have expected it. Then why did I feel bitter? I had gotten my hopes up a tad too much, building up only for a let-down. And sure enough, there it was.

Christmas came, and most of the other long-term patients got their holiday visitors. They all got their cards with a 'get well soon' message and had them all placed on their nightstands next to them. I tried to resist it, But still found myself peeking into their rooms, looking at the presents and cards they had received. It was painful, I'll admit. I was even jealous of those patients too far gone to even notice their visitors: They still had them, while I did not.

There were no cards even. I'm pretty sure that if any cards for me did find their way here, the hospital would ignore them, acting like there was no Kenny McCormick present here. They didn't want to attract any attention, Harris had said.

I didn't spend Christmas eve in total solitude though. Jay had insisted he'd stay with me. I told him it wasn't necessary, that he should go and be with his own family, but he was deaf to all of this.

He had prepared a modest Christmas dinner of our very own. It wasn't grand by holiday standards, but to me, used to eating frozen waffles for dinner every night, it was the best meal ever. Grateful, I feasted on the pieces of turkey and the humble cake. It was absolutely delicious, all of it. He even smuggled in a batch of Christmas candy for me right under the hospital's nose.

As we ate, we merrily talked about all kinds of things. I told him in great detail about my friends and family, what they're Christmas would be like. I told him about the meager Christmas dinners in my run-down home and my parents getting wasted on expired eggnog. I told him about Kyle and how his Jewish tradition didn't allow him to celebrate Christmas, and how Cartman would rub this in at every chance he got. He in turn told me why he became a nurse, and what the best parts of his work were. He told me that it felt great to help people, to accompany them, just when they needed it the most. We also talked about what I was going to do as soon as I was released (which would be soon, he kept assuring me).

Jay stayed with me the entire night. His other charges had all gotten their visitors, and they wouldn't need any more care tonight. I don't know for how long he was with me, but it was till past midnight at least.

Finally I just closed my eyes and drifted away. It was the best night's sleep I had in weeks. When I woke up I noticed Jay put me to bed after I dozed off, because I was now lying under the covers, my head resting on the my pillow still wearing my orange parka but with the hood took and tucked away neatly.

I soon also discovered he had hidden some of the leftover Christmas candy under my bed, away from doctor's eyes. Bless him.

It wasn't on Christmas day that I broke down. Jay meant well, and after Christmas eve I did feel better, but it only made the next day worse. It got me to thinking, and not about happy things.

It would only take one last push for me to fall. And Dr. Harris would be glad to deliver that push.

I found myself in the operating room, locked inside a giant cylindrical machine that could best be described as an 'overcharged sunbed'. It emitted UV-waves of great intensity for far too long. I was wearing no clothes but my briefs and a crude metal device that forced my eyes to remain opened, and I could feel my body seethe away from the machine's merciless rays.

The light was too fierce. Soon my eyes succumbed and I lost my sight. My skin went beyond third degree burns and my entire body was screaming for relief.

'doing great, Kenny' I heard Harris say.

This time he won. This time the pain was unbearable. But this time, my lips and tongue were burned up to such a degree that I was unable to scream out. Harris was unable to see what was going on inside the machine, although I doubt he would have ceased at the sight of me.

I still had to bear through a full five minutes before finally the machine was turned off. Harris must've looked at my burned entity with a malicious smile, but I couldn't tell: My vision had forsaken me.

I tried to get out of the tube, but my muscles were torn away to such a degree that I just stumbled and fell flat on the operating room floor.

It was too much.

'I need you to stand up and turn around for me, Kenny' Dr. Harris had said, oblivious. My ears were fine, I heard him perfectly, but I was unable to get up. I just lay there on the cold, stone floor.

It took a full twenty minutes for me to regain control of my scorched body. For this entire time, I just lay there. Harris saw no reason to make sure I was okay. I only heard the occasional scribble of his pen. The pain was still horrible, and my sight hadn't returned yet.

'Kenny, can you just walk in a circle for me?' Harris continued after I got on my feet with great effort. Barely able to keep standing, I stumbled around aimlessly. It didn't take long before I crashed into a wall and fell down again.

The fact that all this happened with Harris being present only made it worse. The situation must have looked absolutely hilarious to him right now. I bet he was silently laughing his head off at my pitiful attempts to walk around.

'Eye tissue severely damaged' He stated idly and I heard him writing again.

I didn't bother to try and stand up again. I just rolled around on the cold floor to ease my burning skin. It may have taken another ten minutes of agony before I was able to see again. I barely made out the doctor's silhouette as he kept scribbling in his notebook. Still hurting, I got on my hands and knees and crawled around the room to an empty chair. I pulled myself up and sat down on it.

'All right, I need you to step in again, Kenny'

And that's where I lost it. It was obvious Harris had a knack for coming up with the most painful experiments imaginable, and this one was his masterpiece. And now, before I had even begun to recover from it, he wanted me to go through it again. The burning of my blistered skin was excruciating. I couldn't do it.

I dropped out of the chair onto my knees, sat on the floor and wrapped my arms around my knees, burying my head in my arms, and started to cry.

And it wasn't just crying, it was Niagara falls shaking-out-of-control crying. Still only in my briefs, I was rocking down on the floor, sobbing. The tears hurt my burning eyes as they rolled down my cheeks in great volume.

I hated myself for it. I didn't want to break down in the face of Harris. I had tried so hard not to. But I couldn't bear it, not anymore. I may even have cried out for my mother then, like the clueless infant lost in the big world. I was completely and utterly desperate, at the end of my line. The self-loathing only made it worse.

Dr. Harris just stood there, baffled. He had no clue how to respond. For a while he just stared at me blankly, no longer writing anything down.

Then, just like that, saying nothing at all, he left the room. He returned with Jay about two minutes later.

Jay flipped out at the sight of me. He pushed Harris out of the way and kneeled down next to me. He made sure not to touch my burning skin. He didn't ask me if I was all right (It was very obvious I wasn't). He just looked at me with compassion. His presence was comfort on its own.

Once I managed to control my sobs and the tears stopped flowing. Jay stood up and faced Dr Harris:

'What has been going on here? What did you do to him?' He wasn't just angry, he was furious. I lifted my head to see him raving at the doctor. I was worried. Shouting at Dr. Harris and interfering with the tests would invoke the cat-killer's retribution, and that definitely wasn't good.

'We are just following protocol. We executed the experiment to test the ...'

'"Experiment"? This? Are you freaking kidding me? Look at the state of him!'

'Can you just get him up so we can continue...'

'Oh no, this madness is over!' Jay then turned to me again: 'Don't worry Kenny. I'm getting you out of here. I swear it.'

He took my hand and lifted me up, touching my burned, red skin as little as possible. I was still sobbing, but with his help I was able to walk out of there.

He walked me up to my room and got me to the bed. He walked out and got me a dose of painkillers and some after-burn skin lotion. He stayed with me long enough to make sure I was all right. He then walked out again, promising me this wouldn't be the last of it.

For hours I lied there in perfect silence, my mind lost. The burns seemed to cure as rapid as always, and the pain quickly vanished now that I was safe and away from Harris. I would've been glad about my body restoring so quickly, but that had been the thing that got me here in the first place. The only comforting thought was that now that I was broken, I had nothing left to lose.

With that thought most prominent in my head, I surrendered to a dreamless sleep.


	7. The light in your eye

_I'm trying to up the pace of this story, I really am, but it just gets boring. This chapter introduces, something new, at least.  
It gets a bit boring now, but i just finished drafting chapter 10, and the plot gets pretty wicked. I hope i can keep that up further through the tale, _

_but for now, put on some trancy music and enjoy this.  
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I don't know if Jay had meant it when he said he would get me out of here. He didn't actually tell me anything about it afterward. He didn't get fired though. I guess they couldn't let him go because he was too deep in, but he didn't have the leverage to stand up against those soulless doctors either. As spring progressed and there were no signs of me being let out of the room i now called my home, I realized that whatever Jay may have tried to pull off, hadn't worked.

Following depression came acceptance. I thought that after my impending breakdown, I would be a broken shell and doomed to be miserable for the rest of time, but the opposite turned out to be true. I actually felt more relaxed.

My biweekly meetings with Dr. Harris became more bearable. Following the sunbed incident, Dr. Harris would now often offer to sedate me before commencing his experiments. I was reluctant to accept it at first, considering the horrible things he could do to me while I was drugged, but decided to take him up on it. I would still occasionally wake up horribly sore at the end of an experiment, but at least I didn't have to consciously see myself through most of them. Dr Harris would also occasionally cancel, which i didn't mind in the slightest.

I was not sure if I was still supposed to do my daily exercise at the hospital gym, but I did it anyway. I was getting quite muscled, if I may say so myself. Years of malnourishment would always have me be below average height, and skinny as well, but with the extra exercise I became reasonably well-proportioned.

I still continued with drawing things. I still preferred drawing women, but would generally draw anything from animals to zombies. It became a true hobby of mine, and my main way to express, well, feelings, I guess.

I wouldn't be able to pull myself together all on my own. But, thankfully, it turned out I wouldn't have to.

I had always remained true to my oath never to communicate with the other patients. They didn't disgust me or anything, but I had no interest in being close with any of them, either. They just did their thing and I did mine. But when one day I happened to be in the lobby and I saw them bring someone in, I couldn't help but be intrigued.

That someone was a girl my age, who I recognized to be Rebecca, one of the girls of the class I used to be part off. And as far as I knew, she was still in that same class.

When I got shut in here I completely lost contact with the outside world. There were newspapers, sure, but all the misery and wars in the world didn't really have anything to do with me. Rebecca, on the other hand, had still been living in South Park and attending school. She could be my inlet to the world beyond Hell's Pass. Although I doubted she knew how my parents were doing, maybe she could tell them something from me once she was released, let them know I was all right: Because I sure wasn't going to be able to tell them myself any time soon.

And though the list of reasons went on, something withheld me from actually visiting her. First of all the vow I took not to visit the other patients. I remembered the little boy that I had tried to visit only to find him dead, how it had felt when I came in and saw him lie like that.

But she wasn't going to die, was she? They didn't bring her to 'my' section of the hospital, which meant she wouldn't have any terminal disease; she would be all right.

Still, what was I going to say? She wouldn't have a clue who I was. Was I just gonna go up and introduce myself as the hospital freak? What would I say if she asked me why I was in here for?

What if she didn't want to have any visitors? I definitely didn't want to bother her if she was going through a rough time. I, of all people, know what that's like.

I may have sat like this in my room for hours. I kept trying to convince myself and go up there, but in the end always found a reason not to. Maybe I should just wait a few days, I thought. But hell, she could be back out by then.

In the end, when I finally managed to get on my feet, I decided to go up to the reception desk and ask them what room she was supposed to be in.

The same nurse with the off boobs was sitting behind that desk, reading another edition of Science Daily, looking like she'd rather be somewhere else. I took a brave step towards the desk and tried to catch her eye.

'Excuse me, miss, I want to ask about a patient that was brought in here earlier.' I asked politely.

'Who?' the nurse replied shortly, not really paying any attention to me.

'It's a red-haired girl, by name of Rebecca. She was dropped of by her parents earlier today.'

'Ugh, Just a moment please.' The nurse said unenthusiastically and she disappeared behind the computer, typing something. I waited patiently for her to finish.

'Room 103. she's on the first floor, third room on the right, left hallway' the nurse said, and she rested her head on her hand again, glancing back at her magazine.

'Thanks' I said. 'Can you tell me what she was in here for?'

The nurse looked at me this time and considered me for a moment: 'What's it to you?'

'Nothing, just want to know.'

I didn't expect that response to be satisfying, but apparently it was.

'Leukemia' she replied shortly.

'All right, thanks'. I did some kind of silly bow or something, and went up the stairs to where the receptionist had told me to be. I wasn't really supposed to be up on the higher floors, but again, nobody really cared, I think.

As I came up to the door that had a '103' engraved in it, doubt took over again. What if she was sleeping, or unconscious, or they're already operating? If she does have leukemia, she's going to be in here for a little while anyway. Maybe I better let her rest for now until she's a bit more comfortable in this place.

That was an excuse: The first few days are when fear has its firmest grip on you. I myself would've liked nothing more but some company in my own first days here. But there you go.

I didn't go see her that day. I had wanted to, but with heavy feet I went back down and to my room, spending the rest of the day doing a detailed close-up drawing of a girl with a puppy.

It took about four days after they had brought Rebecca in for me to pull my act together. I just came out of the gym after a relatively short (at least for my own standards) pumping session, and the flow of adrenaline gave me the boost of confidence I needed. I made sure to wash off the sweat first, and marched right up the stairs, not giving myself a chance to change my mind again.

Please don't let her have a breathing tube, I thought as I opened the door and walked in the room.

And there she was: Awake, alert and quite alone, lying in her bed.

'Hi Rebecca,' I said meekly. I closed the door behind me, but didn't walk into her room any further.

She looked wary at first, confused by the appearance of the strange boy in her room. She seemed a bit scared off me. Must be the parka, I thought. Nervously, I fumbled with the parka strings and slightly pulled them, tightening the hood around my head.

'How do you know my name?' she asked. Her voice was slightly frail, but not too much so.

'We used to be in the same class. But I've been in the hospital for a while now.'

'Oh.' she replied, not sure what to say. 'Are you like, a burn victim?'

That one was because of the parka for sure. I didn't take the hood off, though. Maybe I should have.

'Me? No, I don't think so.'

For a minute it was silent. I started at her with wonder in my eyes. How long since I've seen anybody from my old school, I thought.

'So what's your name? ' She sat up in her bed a little. I noticed she was still wearing a purple sweater. No hospital clothes for her either.

'I'm Kenny. Kenny McCormick'. Yeah, I just said my full name. Oh well. I had counted on the fact that she wouldn't remember me. She may have remembered me as 'that quiet kid', but never my real name.

'So what are you in for?' I said. I knew full well what she suffered from, but I wanted keep the conversation going. I hadn't talked to anyone my age for almost a year, of course I was a bit insecure.

'Acute leukemia' she said. I replied with a simple 'oh', not bothering to feign surprise.

'Yeah.' Rebecca said 'They say I'm lucky that they discovered it early. Everybody's is pretty sure I will come out okay. I don't know, though. They say it's still going to be tough operation.'

'Yeah, it can be tough here. Scary, too.'

Maybe that wasn't the right thing to say. Maybe I ought to have told her it would be all right.

'I'm not scared' she said, not too convincing. 'It's just not fair, that's all. Why did I have to get leukemia?'

Don't lecture me on what's fair. I didn't say that, of course. Instead I just nodded and looked at her through my parka with my most compassionate eyes.

'You want to sit down?' she said finally, sitting up even straighter, pointing at the single chair in the room. With her permission, I felt brave enough to walk further in and took my seat in the chair she had pointed to. Like mine, hers was a private room, but it was smaller. It did have a TV set, but didn't have a desk, just a chair. It didn't have a bathroom, either.

'So how are things at school?' I began, remembering the reason I came here in the first place. Well, It wasn't the only reason, but the only one I acknowledged.

'Oh, you know, this and that. Homework is tough, but I'm doing okay. But you know, two weeks ago...'

It quickly became obvious that of all people of my old class to be in here with me, She was the perfect one. I definitely wouldn't have minded Stan or Kyle (I definitely didn't want Cartman in here with me then), but she made a splendid alternative. The reason for this was that she loved to talk. She had soon shared with me hours of stories, gossip and anecdotes about every subject imaginable. I was filled in about everything that has been going in my absence and more.

I was happy to remain silent and let her do most of the talking, occasionally nodding and interjecting at random. It was quite enjoyable, hearing her talk. She seemed to enjoy it too. Rebecca was a great story-teller, most likely the gossip of the girls. Even her never-ending stories about shoes and makeup were bearable.

At school, the girls generally had hung out in packs, and talking to one of them when they were with their clique caused them to act very cheeky and giggle far too much, annoying me to no end. And, to be perfectly honest, I acted a lot different when guys were around as well. I told you about the stupid dares I did to get attention? Well I did those to girls as well. Most of my interaction with girls thus involved me pulling their hair on the playground and wildly commenting about their non-existent knockers.

There was none of that now. Just a private, laid-back conversation. Different from talks I used to have with my friends, but good different.

Eventually I steered the conversation towards the three people I wanted to hear about the most. And she didn't disappoint.

She told me that each of them was doing fine. Stan I mostly heard about through Wendy's point of view. They were still together, closer than ever, and apparently they studied a lot together as Stan had been having trouble keeping up. He had also been training a lot so that when he got to high school, he would be able to join the football team there.

Eric, it seemed, had mellowed out a bit since I left. He was still a jerk, hung out a lot with 'that geeky kid with the blonde puffy hair', but got into less trouble than he used to. I wondered if me leaving had played a part in that change in behavior. The girls still all thought of him as grossly unattractive though, and I couldn't help but smile as I heard that.

It was quite the opposite for Kyle. Apparently the girls had decided he was the most datable of all the boys in the class ('But only because you weren't there anymore,' she said, but clearly just to humor me). He still was best friends with Stan, but there was no more of that 'super best friends' rubbish. He had a wide social circle and hung out with a lot of different people, generally being friends with everyone.

We continued to talk during the entire day, until finally a nurse came to check up on her and insisted that I'd leave her so she could get the rest she needed for the upcoming operations. I reluctantly obliged, saying my quick goodbyes.

'I'll come by again very soon, is that all right?'

'Sure' she smiled at me. I smiled back from behind my parka. I gave one last wave and left her room.

I was absolutely giddy as I made my way back to my own room. I hadn't talked to anyone my age in such a long time, and it had been great. For once I could feel like a normal human again, not just the inmate surrounded by corrupt doctors and mentally ill.

And she, she was great. It was great having someone like her in here with me. Jay was awesome, no doubt about it. But she was just, what's the word I'm looking for, real.

I quickly gulped down the dinner Jay had left on my desk. It was late. How we could keep up talking as long as we did without being interrupted I don't know, but it sure was convenient. Maybe the feeling was totally uncalled for, I thought as I entered my bed and pulled up the covers, but I finally felt at home.


	8. Seeing is to know

_I apologize for this in advance. Last filler chapter, I hope. I really wanted the plot to advance faster, because there's a lot ahead, and it has to be dealt with before my great climax inspiration fades.  
Happy Caturday!  
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I didn't get to see Rebecca as often as I would have liked. I didn't want to push myself on her too much, because she was bound to be a bit fragile right now: She needed a good amount of rest. Plus, she must have thought me to be a bit creepy. I couldn't blame her for it. I just made sure not to confirm her image of me by obsessively being around her all the time.

I carefully avoided the subject of my own 'disease'. Whenever we came close to the subject, I would jokingly tell her I had a failed plastic surgery and am supposed to stay here until it is resolved, or something to the effect. Soon enough she discovered my reluctance to talk about it, and she stopped bringing it up.

I did fill her in about my 'hospital live' though. I told her about the deserted gym that nobody but me ever visited, and the hospital kitchen that you could sneak into for that much-needed healthy (but never sweet) snack every now and then. I also told highly dramatized horror story's about the cat-killer and my 'guardian angel' James Johnson. The way I told it made my entire stay here sound like an adventurous and exciting holiday. By the end of it she thought that I was having the time of my life. And, somehow, I thought so too.

I did not tell her about the horrible experiments that Dr. Harris performed. I did not act like the tortured soul that was slowly being worn down to nothing more than a vegetable. I felt like it was my duty to shelter her, and everybody else, from the other side of the medal, especially because she was going to go through surgery of her own. She didn't need anybody scaring her right now.

Instead, I kept interrogating her about South Park. About everything, every little thing, no matter how small, that was going on. I asked about every little detail, about things as boring as day-to-day life. I wanted to be reminded of my old home as much as I could, make it feel like I was living there again. Rebecca was happy to oblige, or I think she was. She probably just liked the attention, or the opportunity to talk a lot, or maybe she just liked pleasing others, or me in particular, maybe.

Just the idea of her being around was comforting enough on its own. Even when I wasn't actually with her, my daily routine in the hospital left me a lot of time for idle thought, and I caught myself thinking off her ever more often. Which was good, I guess, better than my thoughts traveling back to my treacherous parents and our worn-out poor man's home.

All right, maybe I was a bit creepy. It gets worse, actually.

It was at a weekly health check where the doctor on duty gave me an overdose of painkillers. Harris had been working with some shocking device, and my muscles overreacted a bit. They had been awfully sore for days. The doctor was too lazy to actually try and find the cause of it, and he knew that most often my injuries would cure themselves. so he just handed me a couple of tablets to kill the pain and left to watch some more TV in the lounge.

If the cat-killer knew he slacked off like that, he'd have his head, I'm sure of it.

Anyway, those painkillers, they really got to me, and I really felt like just drawing something then. It was about 8 PM, and after I finished dinner, I really didn't feel like staying in my room for the evening. And that's when I got the idea to draw myself a portrait, of none other than Rebecca.

I knew she'd be asleep. Patients here, despite the grossly uncomfortable beds, generally go to sleep, and wake up, very early. I didn't consider myself a patient, so as a sign of protest, I often went to bed later than everybody else. My idea was to just sneak in her room with a pad, paper and pencil, and draw a picture of her sleeping.

Seemed like a good idea at the time.

And so I snuck up the stairs, up to her room. The hospital hallways were perfectly deserted at this time, so there wouldn't be any nurses asking annoying questions. I soon found myself standing before room 103. I pulled my parka strings to tighten the hood a little more and, as quietly as possible, opened the door, which surprisingly wasn't locked.

And she was indeed lying there, eyes closed, looking very peaceful in the light of the lamp on her nightstand. For a moment I just stared at her, entranced (because of the painkillers, I told myself), before I remembered what I came in for. I surreptitiously placed the room's sole chair across the bed and sat myself down on it. Then I put my pencil to the paper and began.

I'm not sure how long the entire drawing took. Definitely longer than two hours, maybe three. At first I was distracted by fear of her waking up, or a nurse walking in to check up on her. If they knew I was sneaking inside sleeping patients' rooms now, they'd forever lock me inside my own for sure, and what would Red think of me then?

As time progressed and I wasn't caught, I cast those thoughts aside and fully focused my attention on the piece of paper.

It was an all new experience to me. Both the creeping and the drawing part. I was used to drawing things out of my bare head, not with a model. A portrait was something entirely different than what I was used to. Every time I looked upon her sleeping face, though, I felt a fresh surge of inspiration, and I carried on.

The painkillers had long worn off when I finished. I looked upon my final work with great satisfaction. She was beautiful, the portrait was. There was something magical about it. I silently praised my work for a full five minutes as I glanced from the drawing, to the involuntary model across the room, and back on the drawing. They matched perfectly. I ran my finger over the girl's cheek, carefully checking it wouldn't smudge. Content, I finally walked back to the door in silence.

'What, all that and I don't even get to see it?'

My hand was already on the doorknob when I heard her. I spun around to see Rebecca sitting up in her bed, perfectly awake, and grinning at me.

Instinctively I grab hold of the strings of my orange parka with one hand, clutching tightly to my drawing with the other, trying to hide it behind my back.

Rebecca's smile widened: 'Well come on, show me.'

Now what?

'H-how long have you been awake' I muttered.

'About the moment you opened the door. I don't sleep very tight here, you see. They gave me tranquilizers, but apparently they don't work.'

Apparently not. Those hospitals can't ever do anything right. I was convinced I was done for. One look at the drawing and she'd think me a stalker, and maybe I was.

'I've been in here for hours. Why didn't you say anything?' I tried to keep the conversation going, thinking of some kind of escape. I considered bolting out of there and not looking back, but my feet were grounded to the floor.

'Why didn't you?' She replied. 'Now, are you gonna give me that or will I have to get over there and take it myself?'

There was nothing else to it. As slowly as I could, I walked up to her. When I got at the bed, she snatched the pad from me.

She carefully ran her eyes over the paper. When she looked at it, she started to blush, or what I thought to be blushing. The sparse light of the room left much of her lineaments open to suggestion. At least she didn't seem freaked out.

She glared at it in complete silence. I didn't dare to say anything as well, I just stood perfectly rigid a few feet from her bed. Her eyes was unreadable. I felt an uncomfortable sort of tingling as I anticipated her response

Finally she tore her eyes away from the pad and stared back at me. She didn't say anything, she just gave a piercing look, trying to look past the parka and into my eyes. I realized she was pondering over the right thing to say.

'Mind if I keep this?' She said finally. Her expression still not giving anything away.

'Sure, sure, keep it.' I replied at once. I felt my body relax. I still had completely no idea what she thought of all this, but there had been no shouting.

'Thanks' she said.

I scuffled my feet a bit, trying to get some kind of opinion of her, I think. She didn't say anything though, and instead stared back at the drawing she just gained.

'Goodnight, Kenny!' she said finally, smiling at me again.

'G'night' I replied clumsily. I nearly tripped over my own feet as I made my way back to the door.

Outside I smacked myself for being so stupid. Why did I do it? And what else: Why did I let her keep it? I wondered, if they did give tranquilizers, she may have believed it had all been a dream.

Rebecca went through her surgery the next day. I was in the waiting room reading a car magazine I've read about three times before, when I saw her parents come in. I knew they were her parents right away. Her mother had the same red hair as her. The same red hair as my own mother, actually. How long since I last saw her?

A nurse with a ghastly perm entered to inform her parents of the latest. I shifted in my seat, making sure I could hear what she was going to say.

'She has been handling the operations reasonably well. We've been successful in slowing down the reproduction of leukemia cells, and are positive the next surgery will kill them completely'

She breathed deep. Her parents were rejoiced at the news.

'How long until she can come back home?' Her mother asked

'If no further complications present themselves, and we have no reason to expect them to, she's probably going to be released in two weeks,' The nurse assured her.

'Can we see her?'

'I think that is all right, but I will have to check with the doctors. Why don't you follow me?'

The three of them left the room and I was alone once more.

I don't know why I felt down at that moment. I was supposed to be happy that she was going to be all right, but on the other hand couldn't help but feel defeated at the idea that she would be leaving the hospital again soon. Once she left I would be alone once more, and everything that I hated about this place before, all that would be back.

At least there'd be the memories, I told myself. That sounds stupid, I know. But you see, I have a lot of memories, all of them intruding my thoughts countless times during my long spawns of idleness. I had unpleasant memories, which were just that. But now, I would have one more happy one to rely on during those moments of solitude.

I know it's a terrible thing to want, but a small bit of me had hoped that somehow the surgery would go wrong, and she would be forced to remain here under constant surveillance for the next few months. We could be stuck in here together, which is just so much better than being stuck in here alone.

I hate being stuck in here alone.


	9. Things we hold are always first to go

I was pulled back to reality by Jay, who entered the waiting room and saw me sitting there, magazine still in my hands, lost in thought.

'Still reading that same old magazine, Kenny? They generally don't tend to say anything new next time you read them'

Thank you captain obvious.

'Tell you what. If you want I'll run by the bookstore tonight and pick up the latest edition for you, deal?'

'Sure, thanks. '

He continued: 'I left unch in your room. I'm sure you can find it yourself by now.'

'Yeah, no problem. Thanks, Jay'

'So what's so interesting about that magazine you're reading, anyway?' He began, and sat down next to me on the waiting room couch and for a little while we went through the pages together, mostly just looking at the pictures and summing up the ugly parts of each and every one of them. I tried to make some expert comment on a certain car's performance now and then, but Jay knew as well as I did that I had no clue what I was talking about..

Say, Ken,' Jay said finally, looking at me again. This must be what he wanted to talk to me about. I put down the magazine and gave him my full attention.

'I've noticed you've been running around the hospital for the last weeks now. You've been going upstairs a lot.'

I gulped. I didn't think he would notice that. but of course, if he came in my room and saw I wasn't there, he might just take a quick check where I was to make sure Harris hadn't abducted and had started whipping me, or something of the sort.

'Yeah well, sorry. It's just, I've been visiting someone from...'

'Hey you don't have to justify yourself to me. It's just, I didn't want to get your hopes up for nothing, but i've been talking with doctor Harris about having you spend some time outside the hospital.'

That one hit the spot. I felt my entire body light up.

'You have?'

'Yeah. I doubt they'll let you go for good, but they think it may be good for your health if you spend some time outside. So maybe they will let you off for a single day once in a while.'

'They will?' I replied, dumbfounded. I just wanted to make sure I heard him right, that my mind wasn't playing any tricks on me.

'Not if they find out that you're sneaking off to the higher floors. Just stick by the rules and be a good boy for a little bit, and maybe they will cut you some slack soon. I've been able to convince Dr Harris and he is okay with the idea, but it's superior that doesn't want to hear anything of it. He's scary, that guy is.'

That he was. Jay sounded optimistic about it, but I myself couldn't possibly believe that the cat-killer would ever be okay with me going outside. He didn't care about my well-being in the slightest. He'd never let me out of here, because he knew that if someone found out _his _hospital had kept a boy imprisoned here for such a long time, there would be hell to pay.

'Sure thing, Jay. I'll be good. Thanks.'

'No problem at all, Ken.'

He took a few breaths before continuing.

'You know, i never made a case against the doctors for any of my charges before. It's a tricky thing to do, you know. But you, you really deserve it.'

I nodded, unsure what to say.

'You've been through alot. More than anybody should have to live through. I really feel for you. You know that, right?' He put a fatherly arm on my shoulder.

'Ah don't get all weepy now,' I told him. 'Don't worry about me, I'm fine.'

'I know you are, Kenny. And, by the way, I still have something of yours.'

From his breast pocket he took the drawing I once made. The picture of the little girl locked inside the prison cell. He handed it to me.

'I showed it to Dr Harris. He didn't look it, but it really got to him, which truly is a rare sight. I think he will be a bit easier on you now.'

I took the drawing from him, unsure what he wanted me to say. Jay just looked at me one last time, nodded, turned around and left the waiting room.

I soon stepped out too and went back to my room. I hung the drawing he gave me back on the wall next to the others. I sat on my bed and stared at it for a moment. I then spend the rest of the day drawing that same girl with the same winter coat, this time standing outside in a meadow, smiling.

I took Jay's advice and didn't go see Rebecca for the last few days she was in here. I wanted to, but I wanted the temporal leave even more. I made sure to ask the doctors if she got out of her surgery all right, and they assured me she did.

I saw her one last time, though. It was the day she was going to go home. I was walking through the hallways as I saw her come down the stairs, looking completely healthy and cheery.

'Kenny!'

She ran towards me through the dreary corridors. Another patient walking near cast her a judging eye in the passing. When she was about to collide with me, she didn't stop or even slow down. I thought she was going to hug me or something, so I sheepishly held out my arms and waited for her to reach me.

Instead, she reached out her arms and went straight for the hood of my parka, tugging it from my head in one swift motion. She then crashed into me with full force and we both toppled over. I landed on the cold hospital floor, she on top of me.

To her it seemed like the funniest thing in the world. I felt her shaking with laughter. I was positvely startled, like I had just been assaulted. I don't take kindly to people taking off my hood. I keep it on as much as possible.

For a second she just stared at my now unconvered face. She stopped laughing, but continued to smile as she looked down at me, snapped her fingers inches away from my nose, got off me and back up. She then reached out an arm and helped me get up too. I shook the dust of my parka, not putting on the hood again just yet.

'Wow, Red. What'd you do that for?' I said, still shaken up.

'Because,' she replied with a mischievous grin 'I wanted to see what you looked like.'

I considered this for a moment.

'So?' i asked her.

'You look great!' She assured me 'Healthy, I mean. I don't know why they need to keep you here. You don't seem all that sick to me.'

I quickly recovered from that comment.

'Yeah well. I told you, it's a long story.'

That it is, isn't it? I put the hood back on, hiding my face from the world once more.

Her parents came in through the lobby and saw her talking to me. They came up to her and both hugged her tight. I took a few steps back, not wanting to interfere with this little family reunion. I glared at their affections as they told each other how much they missed them, how they were feeling all right now. On the off, I thought of my own parents, what would they say once I arrived at their doorstep again?

Finally they were ready to go. Her parents nudged her towards the car. She came up to me and said her goodbyes. She gave me a quick touch on the arm and assured me she would try to come visit me soon.

I knew there was no chance of that happening. The doctors would never let her. I didn't say that, though, I just told her that would be great.

Finally we parted and she fell back in with her parents. As the three of them walked back towards the exit, her mother turned around and shot me a quick, wary look.

'Is he like, a burn victim?' I heard her ask.

I just smiled to myself.

_____

_Yeah, it's short. Happy Caturday!_


	10. Now we all are slowly changing

_Wow I'm stuck now. I thought i had a plot all worked out, but around chapter twelve, I've no clue what to write about. Oh well.__ I'm still set on the finish, just not the late part buildup.  
______________________________ _

I didn't even realize I had turned fourteen until one day Jay came into my room with a birthday cake. Fourteen and ready to face the world? Not quite.

It was a day like any other. There was no hospital crew singing 'happy birthday' or some cheesy thing like that. I remember some of the younger children getting a fuss like that handed to them, but I needed nothing of the sort right now.

An uneventful birthday was nothing new to me, and it wasn't quite the drag that spending Christmas alone brought with it. This time, I had done something referred to as 'embracing your fate', which in short meant I wasn't going to be all depressed. This time, I got two cards. One coming from Jay, which came along with a subscription of 'Road & Track', and the other one from Stewart Harris. In scrawny writing he had written 'many happy returns' on a 'get well soon' card he clearly picked up from the hospital gift shop by chance.

The best gift, however, was unknowingly given to me by a drunk driver.

I only found this out the next day, but when I heard it, I must have shamelessly jumped for joy . Yes, that's a horrible thing to do, but I don't feel sorry for it. It was without a doubt the second best thing that had happened since I got dragged in here.

Cat-killer had died.

He got hit by a car the evening of my birthday. Ironically, the hospital cutoffs he himself installed were to blame for the fact that he died before the ambulances got to him. A perfect instance of the truism that what goes around, comes around.

I wasn't the only one delighted by his long-overdue passing. Dr. Harris was in a better mood than I had ever seen him in. I spotted him practically skipping down the hospital halls for the next few weeks, whistling the 'House' opening theme song and snapping his chubby fingers. I'm not sure why, but it's probably due to a combination of the fact that he'd get promoted, the fact that he could now claim upcoming medical awards and recognition all by himself, and the fact that his superior was simply a terrifying, most horrible person. May he rest in peace.

I was sure this would bring about welcome changes in the near future. Dr Harris called the shots now, and while he still suffered from a severe lack of social skills and a lust for anything bloody, he was a softy. I was sure he would go easy on me. Life wouldn't be so bad after all, I thought.

My own mood had changed for the better. Sure, things could be grander, but I now had two things to dote on. The first one being the hope for a day off at last, and the other one a certain red-haired girl.

I thought about Red a lot since she had left the hospital. She was great, and not just because she had been the only normal kid I could talk to. No, I really liked her. I wished I had spend more time with her while I had the chance.

Now she was gone, and I didn't think she would live up to her promise to come and visit her. I wasn't supposed to exist, let alone get visitors.

Imagine my surprise when I saw her standing in my room one day.

I was reading September's Road & Track for the nth time, and there she was.I blinked twice, thinking my mind was playing tricks on me again.

'Oh hi there!' she chirped.

'Rebecca' I said, my delight obvious, 'When, how did you...'

'I said I'd visit you, didn't I?' she interrupted me.

'Well, yes. I just didn't think you could.'

'Boy, I say.' she agreed. 'They kept you hidden good and proper, too. The receptionist, she said there was no Kenny McCormick in here, and never has been. She was all shifty about it. In the end I went down the hall you said you were in and checked every room. And sure enough, here you are.'

She said all this very fast. I blinked at her stupidly for a second.

'I brought you something as well.' Red said.

'No way.' I said, still baffled at her sudden entrance. I thought she'd be out of my live for good, and all the sudden she had boomed her way back in, all hyper.

'Way. Remember how you told me they didn't allow you anything sweet in here.'

From beneath her sweater she took a flat box and handed it to me. I opened it. Inside was an assortment of chocolate cookies.

'Baked them myself,' she assured me, blowing lightly the nails of her right hand. 'Go ahead, try one.'

She looked at me in anticipation. As I took one of the cookies, I ordered myself that no matter how they tasted, I would enjoy them immensely.

There was no need to fake anything. They tasted great.

'They're really good' I told her. she smiled.

'Glad you say so. Now take that thing off. I didn't come here to talk to a burn victim. ' Without hesitation, she walked up to me and took the liberty of removing my orange headdress.

Her hands were cold. She probably walked up here.

She made a quick walk around my tiny room, looking through my modest possessions. See gave me a berating look when she spotted the poster of the woman in bikini, and made a point of mimicking her pose while trying to put on a seductive face. Cute as a button.

She didn't bother to ask for permission before looking through my stuff. Coyly, she eventually discovered my drawing collection. It did not, however, escape my notice that while she was still doing an adorable act of cheekiness, referring to every drawing as 'cute' with a drawling 'u', the look in her eyes slowly changed as she went through them. Her eyes once again took up that unreadable expression I remembered from the night I did my drawing of her.

It made me nervous.

I let her get on with her little act, smiling blankly. I tried to take in every detail of her appearance, burning it firmly into my memory. For all I know this time would be my last chance to do so.

'Oh and by the by: We had the entire class sign a 'get well' card and send it here. I don't suppose they delivered it to you?'

She looked up. She had finished with the pile of drawings and was fixing her gaze on me again.

I shook my head.

She walked up to the edge of the bed and sat down next to me. With her left hand she took one of the cookies while she placed her right on my upper leg.

'So, how are you?'

Puzzled, I told her I was fine.

'Yes, but how _are _you?' Her voice was somewhere between concern and curiosity.

'I'm not sure what you're getting at.'

'A few rumors have sparked up at school about you, Ken. They're wondering what's going on with you.'

'So? You didn't tell them anything right? Just told them I was doing okay.'

She did a little smile: 'What would I tell them? You haven't been telling _me_ anything.'

There was no more concern, just curiosity now. I was on my guard.

'Doesn't it seem a little strange to you?' She continued. 'You're in here, perfectly healthy, for who knows how long now, but for no apparent reason?'

With giant eyes she stared deep into mine, trying to pick the answer straight out of my brain.

'There's more to it, Kenny. You don't have to keep it from me. Maybe I can help.'

A thousand of different ideas crossed my mind at the same time. Her gaze made my skin crawl. What should I tell her?

'I really can't help you. I don't know myself.' The desperation was evident.

'Oh, but you do. You're trying to hide it behind your cloak, but I can see that it's weighing your down.'

She was good. She must have been the school's gossip. She clearly had a talent for breaking down the secrets of people.

'It's complicated, all right. I didn't ask for it, and I wish it wasn't, but I...'

Right that moment, we were interrupted.

It was Jay, putting on his usual friendly smile mixed with a subtle hint of surprise at the sight of my visitor. But I could tell that in that smile, something was off.

In the corner of my eye, I could see a chubby man in a white doctor's coat glide away through the hallway beyond.


End file.
